in former chapters. Like those, primitive surprise is aroused by sensations without cognition of an object, or with a minimum of such cognition. Consequently, we find that primitive surprise is manifested in the earliest child-life. Descartes regarded it as "the first of all the passions," but for the too restricted reason that it did not presuppose a cognition of its object as either “suitable" or 'not suitable' to us.

This surprise is contemporaneous with the child's first fears and is in fact part of them. Thus Preyer remarks that "every surprise, even a joyous one, is at the first instant akin to fright on account of the unexpectedness it brings with it-the sudden impression on the senses."2 Thus the blinking of the eyes which is one of the expressions of surprise both in children and adults,3 was observed in his child as early as the twenty-fifth day, when he "for the first time spoke to him in a deep voice," and on the sixtieth day, "the quick, simultaneous shutting and opening of both eyes in case of fright at a quick approach to the face (just as in the case of a sudden, loud noise) is already the rule."5 This primitive variety of surprise, like the corresponding varieties of fear and anger, persists through life, and we, like the child, are startled by any strong or rapid change of sensory stimulation; and our surprise is mixed with fear.

As regards the nature of the jar or conflict which we found to be a condition of surprise, it is different in the two varieties. In cognitive surprise it lies between a present cognition and the memory of preceding cognitions of the same or similar objects. When the latter interacts with the former it often elicits beliefs that are contrary to what we

1 Op. cit. Art. 53, 'L'Admiration.' 'Lorsque la première rencontre de quelque objet nous surprend et que nous le jugeons être nouveau, ou fort différent de ce que nous connaissions auparavant, ou bien de ce que nous supposions qu'il devait être, cela fait que nous l'admirons et en sommes étonnés; et pour ce que cela peut arriver avant que nous connaissions aucunement si cet objet est convenable ou s'il ne l'est pas, il me semble que l'admiration est la première de toutes les passions: et elle n'a point de contraire, . . .'

2 'The Mind of the Child,' pt. i. ch. i. 3. 4 Ibid.

3 Ibid.

5 Ibid.

seem to see before us. we have never before seen him, or where our previous knowledge assures us he cannot be, because he is in some far distant locality, we say " It cannot be he," and yet we see him in front of us. Now contrast this with the conflict in sensational surprise, as that of a loud noise, a sudden flash, or something that we have not seen that strikes against us. Here it is the intensity of the sensation or its manner of occurrence that jars with the memory of preceding sensations, and not any judgments that we may afterwards form about it, as that it is something "new, or very different from what we have known before." The shock of surprise arises before we have time to form such judgments. Thus in the one case the jar or conflict which determines surprise lies between a present cognition and the memory of preceding cognitions; in the other between a present sensation and the memory of preceding sensations.

Thus if we meet a person in a place

We have seen what evokes surprise, let us now see what brings it to an end. When we are startled, and have turned round and recognised the child that sprang upon us, or the friend who clapped us on the shoulder, our surprise is generally at an end. That is to say, this type of sensational surprise, being evoked by a sensation that precedes the cognition of its cause, is put an end to by this very cognition. But if on turning round we were to recognise not a child who had sprung upon us but a man, not a friend who had clapped us on the shoulder but a stranger, our surprise would both continue and change its character: it would become cognitive surprise, and attain to that degree of it to which we apply the term astonishment.' No longer would the sensation surprise us, but what it means or imports. That a man should have done this thing, or a stranger, would conflict with the total effect left by our experience of the behaviour of sane men in general.

We have next to consider what brings cognitive surprise to an end. When an extraordinary event has happened and one that seems irreconcileable with our preceding experience, we inquire into it. It arouses curiosity. And when curiosity is satisfied, we have a knowledge of the event more complete

than that with which we began, namely, that the event which startled us was the action of a man or a stranger. For instance, if we have found out that the man is insane, the extraordinary character of his behaviour is explained, and will no longer surprise us. Thus cognitive, like sensational surprise, is put an end to by a cognition of the object, but it must be a cognition that removes the conflict. And as when we have identified the child that startled us we are no longer surprised, so when we know that some extraordinary behaviour is the action of a madman, the conflict with our preceding experience is removed, since that experience referred to the behaviour of normal individuals.

Having seen both what elicits surprise and what puts an end to it, we can more clearly understand its nature. It occupies the interval of time between the happening of two events, and is the feeling of shock which fills this interval. It represents in both its chief varieties an inability of the mind to interpret a present occurrence, or of the nervous system to adapt itself to a new situation. Hence the mental state is one of confusion or bewilderment. Not knowing what to do, the mind can give no direction to the limbs, which, except for certain expressive gestures,-as throwing up the hands or covering the mouth or forehead,-remain motionless; and action is suspended until we begin to recover from the surprise. This is especially noticeable in those higher degrees of cognitive surprise which are named 'astonishment' and 'amazement.' Thus we speak of being 'petrified' with astonishment, and of being 'dumbfoundered' with amazement. For the mental confusion is so great that we cannot speak, because we know not what to say. Darwin describes a savage who saw a man on horseback for the first time, and his "stupefied amazement." "He stood incapable of moving a limb, riveted to the spot, mouth open and eyes staring.. He remained motionless until our black got within a few yards of him, when suddenly throwing down his waddies, he jumped into a malga bush as high as he could get." He "could not speak, and answered not a word to the inquiries made by the black . . .”1

...

1 'The Expression of the Emotions,' ch. xii.

Thus surprise is a sudden feeling of shock united to this mental attitude of confusion or bewilderment.

This conclusion is borne out by what we know of the physiological conditions of surprise. For as the nervous system cannot adapt itself to an extremely strong stimulus, so it cannot adapt itself at once to a sudden change of stimulus, or to a situation which is in marked contrast to our preceding experience. And this failure of adaptation is expressed in the motionless attitude, the staring, stupid expression, the inability to do anything, or to speak. Only exclamations, as 'Oh !' 'Ah!' 'Good gracious!' come from a man at such times. The organised activity of the mind is suspended. But in ordinary cases the nervous system quickly recovers from its failure. The man regains his control, looks round, and sees, or inquires, what has happened.

The bodily sensations connected with surprise often survive the emotion. When we have been startled, and, looking round, discover the trivial explanation, saying, "Oh! it was only you," our surprise is at an end: the sensations of the quickened heart-beats and breathing take longer to subside. But surprise is not constituted of these sensations alone; it is essentially, like all emotions, a mental attitude: a sudden confusion of mind with the accompanying feeling of shock.

This mental confusion and shock of surprise is always sudden, no matter how slow and regular may be in certain cases the initiation of the experience. Someone may

approach us slowly and in the ordinary way; but if we recognise him to be someone whom we expected never to see again, the shock and confusion of mind are suddenly felt. The disturbance which it produces, says Descartes, "has from its commencement its full force." 1

There are other states of conflict and confusion of mind

that are not to be confounded with surprise. When we have a choice of action, which must be determined by a clear and adequate foresight of consequences, there is not only mental conflict, but we are often unable to foresee either 1 Op. cit., Art. 72.

course clearly; this is not surprise, because the mind is not thrown into sudden confusion. But when we have followed a clear principle that seemed evident and are brought suddenly to a contradiction, we are surprised and confused. It is this sudden confusion of mind, with its feeling of shock, suspending both our self-controlled and our impulsive actions, that distinguishes surprise from other states of confusion and conflict.

The common mind has then distinguished this state of shock and confusion, and named it surprise. For such a sudden feeling stands out distinctly from preceding and subsequent events; and, being so distinct and impressive, is naturally named. What importance it has for science, and what effects it has on mental life, we shall now attempt to estimate.

4. Of the Tendencies of Surprise

If asked,-what are the uses of Fear or Anger, we should think of their numerous impulses and ends, and of their general functions in the economy of the mind. But what impulse and end has Surprise? This question is difficult to answer because surprise is so often, if not always, mixed with some other emotion, and that which belongs to the second may be attributed to the first. But we can now distinguish its tendencies from those both of fear and anger, and should not think of attributing to it either the impulses of shrinking, concealment, and flight of the one, or those of threat, punishment, and destruction of the other. But there is another emotion with which, on the theory of Adam Smith, it has peculiarly close relations. For, according to that theory, we must hold that the new arouses both surprise and wonder, because in the new there is some element of the unexpected. With curiosity, at least, it is so closely connected that they may seem to be one emotion.

In all the varieties of surprise to which we have referred there is some question expressed or implied. When we are startled by a noise we say, " What is it?" When we meet a friend in a place where we have never seen him before, we ask, "How did he come to be there?" If we are surprised by